Turkey Part 3

Days 8-10: Patara
After a much longer ride than we expected in the crowded, under air-conditioned Dolmus (there were lots of people hopping on and off which made it take foreevvvver), we finally arrived in Patara. The owners of the hostel (St. Nicholas Pension- as the name might imply, Patara is the birthplace of our St. Nicholas) were eagerly waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs and quickly herded us in, offered us tea, and showed us to our lovely rooms. We freshened up a bit and then dragged ourselves back out the door to see some ruins before they closed for the day. The area around Patara was once a major Lycian port, but now it's mostly used as farm land-notice the cows grazing around the well in the midst of all the rubble- and provides the few tourists who go there charming scenery along the mile down to the beach. In typical un-American fashion, these ruins are not regulated even a little, so you can tromp around to your heart's content. It was great fun. 

Patara beach is 18 kilometers long and generally has only a handful of people scattered about. We paid a few lira to rent beach chairs and sit under an umbrella, and when it started to rain (of course the only time it rained was the one day we went to the beach), we climbed up the rock outcropping (bottom left) for a view of the cobalt blue water on one side and turquoise on the other. Naturally, we got quite sunburned (rotten non-waterproof sunscreen that I applied many times to no avail), which was especially sad because it prevented us from being able/having a desire to go to a Turkish bath for a scrub down and massage. Ah well. Next time.

Because of the bus schedule and because phin wasn't feeling well and really because we really loved Patara, we decided to stay an extra day here. This was fantastic especially because it gave us more time to go to a wonderful little restaurant that mostly served Gözleme, a kind of Turkish pastry/pancake deliciousness. Zillah and I had been on our first night for smoothies but couldn't resist the restaurateur's charm and agreed to try a gözleme- apricot, which really meant sweet heaven's nectar. We begged M and Phin to go there for dinner the next day for an assortment of savory and sweet (as soon as Phin has time to send us some pictures, I'll show you how the chef made the pancakes. Over an open flame). I wish I could eat one right now...one chocolate honey and one apricot. Oh the honey. I almost forgot to mention how amazing the honey was in Patara. I would have loved to have taken home a bucket of it, but it might have weighed down my bag a little too much, not to mention what the Customs people would have said...but it was so. dang. good.


Days 10/11: Selcuk (Ephesus)
Leaving Patara, we caught our next bus just like native Turks by standing at a hot dusty intersection. We arrived in Selcuk a bit late to gain entry into anything, but we bopped around town to see the lay of the land and peeked into an simple old mosque with a lovely courtyard. Although I was dressed inappropriately for a mosque visit--my legs were showing brazenly--there were several scarves at the entrance, so I wrapped myself up like a mummy and stepped inside. It was a much more intimate feeling mosque, the kind you actually might want to pray in rather than visit only for the beautiful interior. 

The next day we spent the morning in Ephesus. I was delighted to see a few areas I hadn't seen the year before when I came with my parents and it was nice to have the freedom to wander around without a guide. There were cats everywhere. Actually, there were cats all over Turkey. And most of them didn't look too mangy either.  

After Ephesus, we headed back to Selcuk for a few hours to see the ruins of the Basilica of St. John where, as you might guess, St. John is buried...IF he's actually dead, that is. Is he? Is he not? Then M went off to the Ephesus museum to see, I believe, the well-endowed Artemis, while Phin, Zillah, and I did some shopping for some odds and ends, and, of course, more food. Zillah ended the day with the purchase of a small but exquisite rug, and Phin finally found herself a dagger. 


Days 11/12: Bergama (Pergamon)
Bergama is a less visited town, evidenced first of all by the shopkeepers' excitement at seeing real live tourists. It was also a very manly town- maybe it was because we were there on a Saturday/Sunday, but we hardly saw a single Turkish woman the whole time. Men, men, everywhere, and not a woman to be seen. And the men stared. And stared. AND STARED to the point where I was ready to blurt something very rude  if they dared say a word to me. Luckily we left for Izmir before that happened. Anyway, the purpose of going to Bergama was to see the ruins of the ancient Greek city of Pergamum. What's left of it is located on top of a fairly steep hill, so the Turks built a nice little tram system to take you up and down. We thought about walking down rather than taking the tram, but a few hours in the beating sun changed our minds. M was in heaven when we finally found the remnants of the Altar of Zeus for her. 

On the evening we stayed in Bergama, Phin finally spotted some fantastic little ceramic balls that she had been looking for, and so we stopped into a little shop thinking we'd grab some and go...but we didn't leave for well over an hour. The shop keeper was exceedingly happy to have customers, and even more delighted that we were Americans. He offered us cup after cup of tea and we sat on his couch and chatted about his travels around Italy, his family living overseas (he called his son in North Carolina to see if it was close enough to DC that I could go visit), and how he met and married his wife. It was a lovely experience.


Before leaving Bergama, we visited the ruins of the Red Basilica, ate some baklava (which we did, to the point of nausea), and saw the Bergama Museum that houses bits of the ruins from Pergamom and has a fairly large (though not life-sized, to M's disappointment) replica of the Altar of Zeus. Then it was back to the bus station for a short ride to Izmir to catch a flight back to Istanbul and then back home. And that was it.

Turkey Part 2

Days 5-7: Cappadocia
Leaving Istanbul, we caught a very early flight to Kayseri, which is the closest city to the region known as Cappadocia. If you ever go to Turkey, you simply must take the time to go here. It's like nothing you've ever seen. Created by a volcano that erupted thousands of years ago, the landscape looks like little phallic blobs of rocks sploosomed out of a tube (kind of like when I try frosting a cake). And if that isn't reason enough to visit, Byzantine monks moved in and cut churches and homes into the rocks, which means you can have a hiking adventure while enjoying mosaics and frescoes. 

People used to live in the caves in Cappadocia until as recently as the 60s. The photo below was taken from a little village on a hillside that finally moved down to the valley after an earthquake in 1967 (I think). Nowadays, the Turks don't live in the caves, but they make a serious profit off the tourists who want a cave experience. We were a little too poor this trip to stay in a cave hotel, but our hostel more than made up for it. I would have stayed there a week just to stay at Kose Pension longer. Not only was it almost ridiculously cheap, but the rooms were spotless and well decorated-there are lovely murals scattered throughout the hostel-the food is delicious, and the roof-top dorm room is one of the coolest places I've ever slept. I highly highly recommend it. 

Our first day in Cappadocia was a little crazy, starting with the shuttle not arriving at the airport to take us the 45 minutes to Goreme, where we were sleeping. We got lucky and caught a ride with a guy who claimed to also be a tour guide...so we were suckered into paying a little more than we should have for a tour of the towns throughout Cappadocia (it's really difficult to get around Capp on public transportation, making either a guide or car/scooter rental almost imperative). His English was actually almost non-existent and it turned out that he didn't really know (or couldn't communicate) much of anything about the places we visited, which made him really irritating. Good thing we had Lonely Planet to help us out. I was really grumpy with the whole situation the longer we were stuck with him. Thankfully Zillah got rid of him while I was in the bathroom at the Goreme Open-Air Museum (thanks about it!). We nicknamed him "the Blemish" or better yet, "the Putrescence." But, as M reminded me, we would never have met Mehmet without the driving services of The Blemish. Mehmet is a local who lives in the town pictured above (I think). He owns a gift shop, hotel, restaurant, half the town, etc. When he saw us traipsing around on some old cave dwellings above his shop, he ran up the hill and offered to show us around, since, naturally, he grew up playing around those cliffs and caves. He was great and we were all delighted to have met him. 

From our day with the Blemsh, pictured below from left: a "castle" in Uchisar; the Hair Museum in Avanos with over 16,000 dusty, cobweb infested samples of women's hair. Definitely creepy, but Zillah and I both added our own locks to the nastiness; a detail from one of the many little churches in one of the caves...I can't recall which one; the exterior of one of the churches in the Goreme Open Air Museum.

The second full day we spent on an official tour of the area, which seemed a little pricey (90 TL but no better deals were to be found since the tour groups standardize their prices each new season), but was actually well worth it since it included transportation, entry fees, a knowledgeable tour guide, and a huge lunch. And we met a lovely retired Australian couple, a seriously extroverted American who told us his life story (complete with details I wouldn't tell some of my friends) within 3 hours, and an Italian family with an adorable 3-year-old.  We went to the underground city in Derinkuyu (too dark for my level of photo skills), which was at times a bit claustrophobic and unnerving as it was up to 100 meters below ground- all that rock pressing down on you- but really interesting to see how and where people lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Underground. They even had a baptistery! Then we headed to Ilhara Valley for a hike and lunch. The best part of the valley was all the little churches nestled up in the cliffs. After lunch, more cave cities, this time aboveground.

Day 7: Konya
I was loathe to leave Cappadocia, but we had other places to see, so we hopped on a bus and made our way south to Konya, known for little aside from Rumi (a famous Persian poet) and his Whirling Dervishes. Being the wrong time of year, we weren't able to see a dervish, but we did see Rumi's tomb, some beautiful Korans, and a case holding some of the Prophet Mohammed's beard hairs (I forgot to mention that at Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, we saw Moses' staff. Yes, the very one, so they say). It's a fairly sacred spot for many Muslims, so it was no surprise that we were surrounded by throngs of tourists mingled with Muslim pilgrims during the hour or so we had there. Pictured below: the Mevlana Museum (Rumi's shrine). The teal tower is right above where Rumi is buried. Please also note the Turk pants mentioned in my previous post. We wore them particularly because we knew that Konya was a pretty conservative place and our pants were long and shapeless versus tight jeans or shorts. But after being stared at incessantly and noting that none of the girls our age were wearing such attire (jeans and t-shirts for them), I started to wonder if our pants were too touristy? Then I saw the old ladies and came to the conclusion that maybe only tourists and old Turkish ladies wear our loose gypsy pants. Ah well. 

And then we were back on a bus and off to Antalya to sleep for the night and hopefully let Phin recover a bit from whatever it was that was making her ankles and feet swell up like balloons.


Day 7/8: Antalya
By the time we got to our hostel in Antalya, Phin was definitely not feeling well. After we dragged a confession out of her (she didn't complain at all), we teased her into submission, made her put up her feet, and decided it was time for a rest day. The only problem was that Antalya wasn't really our ideal place for a rest. Although a nice enough city, it's more of a resort town for the Europeans (and therefore on a resort type of budget) with a few things we wanted to see, but nothing major. So early in the morning, M, Zillah and I trekked out on the town for a peep at Hadrian's Gate and the Old Roman Harbor and then we were off again, this time on a minibus called a "Dolmus" to rest in the teeny beach town of Patara. 

Turkey Part 1

Hello friends! I'm warning you now that this is going to be a long long post followed by another really long post. So in case you're not interested in actually reading all I have to say (this is more for me to remember things we did/saw), it's quite alright for you to skim through the smattering of pictures. 

Day 1: Amsterdam

The journey to Turkey began with a planned 12-hour layover in Amsterdam. After going way too far on the train (the suburbs were lovely), we finally found our way to Amsterdam Central. We had time and strength for only two museums: Anne Frank's House and the Rijksmuseum. Although we didn't know it until we got there, it just so happened to be Anne Frank's birthday, making it 70 years since Anne received her diary. She would have been only 83. I always think of her as quite a bit older than my grandparents, but she really wasn't. Near the end of the museum they had some heart-wrenching interviews with her father. I think one of the hardest things for him was reading the diary and realizing that he didn't ever fully know or understand his daughter until after she was gone....something to think about when I have kids.

The Rijksmusem was fabulous, at least the parts that weren't under construction (can I just say that it's really irksome to pay full entry fee when half of the museum is closed down). I wanted to sit and stare at some of my favorite Vermeers and Rembrandts for hours, but alas, by about midway through, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. An art museum is not a good place to go when you haven't slept in 2 nights. So although we had a few more hours to kill, we went back to the airport early and stuffed our faces full of food until our next flight. 

Being in Amsterdam for only a few hours was a little like torture. They Dutch were so...so cool. And their bikes were all chic with their lack of gears and handle brakes. I'm desperate to go back and actually see things.

Days 2-5: Istanbul

Where to start with Istanbul....I'd heard it said that Istanbul is like no other city in the world, and it really isn't. It felt European and 3rd World and Middle Eastern and modern all at the same time. As I stepped off the plane, the air smelled like spices (and since it was 2 am, it also smelled a little like urine). It was packed full of people all the time, even at 3 am. From my short 2 weeks in Turkey, I have deduced that Turks never get up before 9 am, but also never go to sleep til way past midnight. 

The short list of things we did/saw in Istanbul: Haggia Sophia (on left above-note the haziness), Blue Mosque, the Hippodrome, Topkapi Palace (fireplace from the Harem, below, middle. I wish my whole house looked like this), Istanbul Archeology Museums, Galata Tower, Basilica Cistern (below, left), Suleymaniye Mosque (my favorite, on right above), the Bosphorus Straight by ferry, Cora Church (below, right), Fethiye Mosque, Ecumenical Patriarchate (the "headquarters" of the Greek Orthodox Church), the Grand Bazaar, the Spice Bazzar...and I think that's it. 

As you might imagine, I was in heaven in the Spice Bazaar. It took all my self-control not to spend all my money on spices and dried fruits and nuts and such. And even Turkish delight, which I always thought was kind of nasty (Edmund was willing to trade his soul for THIS!?), but fresh from the market is actually pretty dang good (Edmund I understand you a little better now). Especially the ones rolled in coconut. I think initially I limited myself to: 1 box of Turkish delight (to share), dried apricots, almonds, apple tea, orange tea, and, of course, 1 small jar of saffron. 

One of my favorite moments in Istanbul happened while we were walking along this lovely path back from the Ecumenical Patriarchate back to the Spice Bazaar (quite a long way). The call to prayer started and from where we were standing, we could hear the muezzin (the call to prayer singer) coming from four or five mosques and then echoing out over the water. It was absolutely lovely. 

Istanbul was hot hot hot and sticky. Wearing anything but the Turk pants we bought (which you will see later) was pretty much unbearable, but we soldiered on with shiny faces (yes, like mine below) and sweating backs. Pictured below: me in Haggia Sophia; a mosaic from Haggia Sophia; Haggia Sophia tombs where the five sultans and their families were buried; inside Fethiye Mosque.

Before Turkey, I had never been in a mosque before. I knew the appropriate protocol, of course, but I'd never had a chance or reason to visit one. In some ways our visits to them were rather disheartening: many of the tourists in the mosques put their shoes on the carpet or otherwise showed the bottoms of their feet = very offensive; some of the women were dressed inappropriately (shorts, tank tops, etc) or, once inside and away from the eyes of the officials, removed their head scarves. So. Rude. In the Blue Mosque, I was particularly saddened to see that the women's prayer area (at least they had one!) was in the back by all the tourists and behind the place where people could store their shoes. (Perhaps I was overly paranoid about the bottom of the foot thing...since I've been back, I've been reveling in being able to sit with my feet showing...but better to be overly culturally conscious, right?). Most people didn't notice them trying to pray. It's hard to be a woman in Islam, I think. But on the more positive side, it was touching to see the men and their sons doing their ablutions before entering. And although I felt a bit invasive staring at them while they prayed, it was still lovely to see. The mosques were all beautiful inside...and the carpet felt glorious on our tired feet.

More to come later.

on packing

Next week I shall be traveling in Turkey for two weeks. And although I'm usually pretty nonchalant about what I pack, it's generally done the night before my departure and in a very small bag, my subconscious self is apparently quite worried about what to bring. Case in point: last night I had a dream that T-rav, three friends and I were all going camping, but they wouldn't let me take any clothes with a medium level of grubbiness. Instead, I was forced to bring whatever I had managed to put on the top of the pile, which was actually the pile of clothes to not take (my very best and fanciest items, which isn't really saying much, but still) and didn't include any underwear. It was quite distressing to have to go hiking wearing heels and a blouse, especially when I looked around and saw everyone else in cut-off shorts and t-shirts. I hate being the odd-woman out. And then to top it all off, they wouldn't let me wear the one grubby shirt I had smuggled in the bag-a slightly oversize tie-dye shirt.

I know. Such a trial.

Anyway. This made me think about packing and what I really should bring with me for 2 weeks that will all fit in a small backpack and still leave a little space for any treasure that I simply must bring home. I may end up just wearing the same 3 shirts the whole time (M, phin, and Zillah, I promise to bring soap to wash my clothes). I'd just really rather have a small bag that's easy to transport around the country than have several options of outfits (though I'm sure I'll change my tune when it's time to get dressed in the morning. I usually do). What about the rest of you? What's something you simply can't travel without? (me: face wash and accompanying facial products). Are you a light packer, heavy packer, or somewhere in between? Do you plan ahead or throw it all in last-minute?

where is home?

When my little sister Kate was 7 or 8, she started calling me a hobo. It was unthinkable to her little child brain that someone would move around as much as I did...not that I really did, but being a college student always seems to warrant frequent moves. Since we were married, T-rav and I have lived in 8 places in 9 years in 5 different states (and 2 countries if you count the summer in Guatemala), and, as most of you know, much of that time has been spent in Utah. But Utah never really felt like home. It was always a place I was living temporarily until we moved to our "real" home. Wherever that was.

In truth, I've felt in-limbo for a long time. Although I don't really want to choose a place to settle down (ah, the dreaded word settle. It sends shivers through my spine), I sometimes think it might be nice to have a place that was my place. A place where I belong. Because if I can't spend all my time wandering around the globe, I'd like to have a little house with a grand yard and chickens and the best garden you've seen in a long time. And maybe a few goats. And fruit trees. 

This past week when I was back in Utah visiting my sister and her new baby and all the friends I left behind when I moved to DC, I thought that I might feel a little like I was returning home again. But I didn't. Not really. It was lovely to visit, and in many ways I felt like I had never left, but I didn't feel that sense of belonging that I was searching for. 

So did I feel like I was home when I returned to DC? Not particularly, though more so than in Utah. I'm starting to think that perhaps I have the wrong idea of what "home" means (and please don't tell me that "home is where the heart is" because my heart is generally in Italy or Ireland or the Falkland Islands). Usually I feel like my home is where I grew up, my parent's home, but my father usually tries to make it clear that it's not my home any more (particularly when I'm contemplating a house remodel without him). So where is home? What makes you feel like you're home?

Update: T-rav accidentally suggested that I might feel more at home if I had a dog (accidentally because he really doesn't want one). I think he's right. I need a dog.

proof I exist

After my cousin Molly passed away last year, I spent a lot of time going through all of the pictures she had amassed on facebook (my sister and I made a memory book of her photos and memories from family and friends). And my oh my did that girl have a lot of photos. Like many teenage girls, she vacillated between narcissism and self loathing, but still she took pictures of everything she did, everywhere she went, everyone she loved. Of course we will always carry our memories of Molly with us, but it's nice to have so many of them down on paper (or rather on the computer). It's easy to get more than a glimmer of her impish personality from those pictures. It's proof of how she lived, laughed, loved.

It made me start wondering what kind of memories I've left behind. I'm terribly bad about keeping a journal (this blog is about the closest thing to one I've ever had), and apparently I don't really take pictures either because as I went through many of the photos I'd taken since I left home 12 years ago (twelve years! I can't believe it), I was a little shocked to find how few there were. Of all my adventures, there were only a handful of  small folders of pictures, many of which did not include any people. And it made me a little sad. All those memories, lost to the past, evident only in what I can remember and may/may not write down at some point.

So I made a resolution, one that I've really not been that great about keeping thus far: to take more pictures. I want to be able to look back at my life and see how I lived. I want my children to know who my best friends were from more than just 1 or 2 pictures (and preferably know them in real life). I don't want to forget. And I don't want to be forgotten.

a note from my (grammar) student

Ms. Zirker,


Thank you for teaching me. My English grammar become much better than before. I learn a lot and have a happy life in Georgetown University. Thanks again!


Should I be pleased or shed a tear?

how good is your British?

You know I'm a bit of a language nerd, particularly when it comes to English. So please indulge me as I present to you this little quiz on some British English words that don't mean quite the same thing in American English.

Match the British words below with their American counterparts. Check the comments for the correct answers and tell me how many you got right/wrong. Please. A little entertainment will make this last week of school go by so much easier. 

Possible answers: 

cotton swab, mohawk, dark chocolate, trampoline, tic tac toe, crossing guard, bangs, electric blanket, cotton wool, slingshot,  large mugs, TV, beet, fanny pack, fender, coveralls, suspenders, candy salesman, tights, tube top, rutabaga, sponge bath, a lawn game, eggplant, zucchini, undershirt, spoiler, milk chocolate

1. aubergine
2. bowls
3. blanket bath
4. boob tube
5. braces
6. boiler suit
7. catapult
8. cotton bud
9. fringe (relating to hair)
10. lollipop man
11. noughts and crosses
12. plain chocolate
13. swede
14. vest
15. wing (on a car)

For a more complete list of differences (and the source for these words) check out this website.

moist

There are certain words that one should never say out loud. The kind of word that make your hair stand a little bit up on end or make you feel like you've just revealed something personal that you didn't mean to share with the group. Like moist, for example. The one good thing about it, however, is that when you're trying to take a family picture with several people who are typically not very photogenic (ahem. me), and your slightly, or maybe more than slightly, crass brother shouts the word "moist" at the top of his lungs, everyone doubles over into a belly laugh that cannot be contained, which actually doesn't result in the best pictures for some of us, but it's better than an uncomfortable grimace, right?

Other words on my "banned words" list include: panties, bulbous, gyrate, (which one of my professors managed to work into almost every lecture for a whole semester. Sometimes he even acted out the verb for us...) pimple, and several words that, while pure in and of themselves, connote various body parts or functions. I'll leave those to your imagination. 

While you think of words that make you squirm, please admire these pictures of my adorable nephew at his 1st birthday party. Please feel free to share any of your most hated words.

Meet B.O.B

T-rav has been saving every penny and scouring the internet for a reasonably priced bike trailer. To his delight (no really, delight. Or maybe giddiness) he finally found one on ebay at a price that led him to believe that something just had to be wrong with it (there wasn't), and soon B.O.B showed up on our doorstop in a jumbo cheese wedge-shaped box (T-rav wanted to keep the box for memories, but really, when would one ever need to pack something in a wedge box?). Once B.O.B was fully assembled, T-rav was itching to him for a spin...preferably farther than around the block. So Saturday we hitched B.O.B to T-rav's bike and pedaled our way to a nursery to buy some plants and soil for our garden. 

We went 25 miles. B.O.B did very well and never once tipped or bounced in an unseemly way. Our plants were happily protected in the back, and T-rav claims he hardly even noticed B.O.B's added weight (I thought I should have bought more and I was right. My garden still has plenty of space for some leafy greens or something...as long as it's not long and viney. Suggestions?)

Twenty-five miles isn't too far. But it's definitely farther than I've ridden maybe ever, and there were loads and loads of hills. Really steep ones. The kind that threaten to make you and your bike tip over because you can't pedal fast enough to keep yourself upright. I may have had to walk once or twice.

Two points to anyone who can guess what B.O.B's name stands for. And no cheating!